


Something Frankly Provocative

by thesadchicken



Category: DD9 - Fandom, Deep Dish Nine - Fandom, Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Deep Dish Nine, M/M, everyone is human
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 13:52:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3531707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesadchicken/pseuds/thesadchicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story about the staff of the french restaurant "Chez Picard", with a special interest in whatever's happening between the restaurant manager and... but that would be telling!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Frankly Provocative

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in the Deep Dish Nine Universe, and inspired by the work of LadyYateXel and Tinsnip. In this universe everyone is human. 
> 
> 1701 'thank you's to my dear friend Susi who beta-read this for me and encouraged me to post it. What would I do without you?

The wooden double doors were pushed open gracefully and a tall figure entered the restaurant. Geordi frowned. He knew exactly who had walked in from the nonchalant pace at which he was walking and the intimidating sound of his shoes clicking on the polished hardwood floor. There was also the gasp that Deanna had tried –and failed- to repress. _Oh no, not him again_. He heard the creak of a chair being pulled back as someone sat down at a table in the corner and the rustling of clothes as Data straightened his uniform and hurried to see to their special customer’s every need.

Their special customer happened to be Quentin Tutto, mostly known as the infamous “Q”, the restaurant critic from hell. He worked for _The Continuum_ magazine, the very first –and doubtlessly the most influential- food and wine magazine in Alpha City. His visits were quite frequent and quite dreaded by everyone who worked at Chez Picard. And here he was again today, as arrogant and obnoxious as ever, with his smug, threatening half-smile and his dark blue turtleneck.

Geordi _hated_ him. They all did to a certain extent; Data was just patient enough to indulge Q’s every little whim and he even managed to stay polite and pleasant the whole time.

“There’s something wrong,” Deanna suddenly said, leaning over the counter slightly.

“Everything’s wrong when Q pays us a visit,” Geordi sighed.

“No, no it’s something about _him._ It’s almost as if he’s… nervous.”

Deanna had this inexplicable little talent; she was good at guessing everyone’s emotions, at knowing what exactly made them anxious or comfortable or scared. It was a huge part of why she was the one at the counter, greeting customers and suggesting tables for them. She was practically infallible when it came to recognizing people’s emotions, and so Geordi trusted her instantly.

“Why would he be nervous?” he asked, surprised.

“I don’t know,” Deanna whispered as her brows knitted into a puzzled frown.

*

Will Riker scratched his beard and sighed, letting himself fall against the immaculate kitchen wall. They had all gotten used to Mr. Quentin’s inopportune visits, but that didn’t mean they were anything less than exhausting. Everyone had worked hard today though; Beverly as efficient as ever, Pulaski easing the tension from time to time with a snarky little remark about their illustrious customer, Data coming and going as fast as his feet could take him, and Geordi making sure everything was perfect; from the volume of the classical music in the background to the efficiency of their stoves and ovens. There was nothing Q could blame them for; absolutely _nothing_ had gone wrong. No spilled drinks, no missing pickles, no so-incredibly-small-stains-he-must-have-been-looking-for-them-to-find-them on the tablecloth, no fights with the wine waitress, _thank you very much Guinan_. Not one slip-up, not the tiniest mistake. Riker was proud of everyone of course, but mostly relieved that Q would be leaving any minute now and his day could maybe be a good one after all. He was already thinking about what they could do to celebrate when this was all over; a few drinks and a lot of poker sounded perfect.

And that’s when Data walked in again.

Riker closed his eyes and moaned: “What could he possibly want _now_?”

“He wants to see the manager,” Data replied calmly.

Will’s eyes sprang open. _Oh_. He stared at the waiter for a moment, wondering if he should be glad or terrified.

“Is this good or bad news?” Pulaski echoed his thoughts, wiping her hands on a piece of cloth as she moved away from the ovens and towards them.

“I don’t know,” Riker muttered, too tired to overthink it; “I guess we’ll just have to wait and find out.”

*

Jean-Luc Picard walked into his restaurant and straight towards the table where a tall, dark haired man was making a show of expressing his boredom, puffing and rearranging the crumbs on his plate with his knife, making a loud screeching sound –a few customers turned and glanced at him disapprovingly. Jean-Luc clenched his jaw as he reached the table and tried to make his voice sound as unpleasant as possible while still being polite.

“Mr. Quentin, what can I do for you?”

Seeing him sitting there, staring at his plate, Jean-Luc wished he would disappear. Snap his fingers and be gone in a blinding flash of heavenly white light. He shook those thoughts out of his head. Dealing with reality was much, much more complicated.

“Ah!  Jean-Luc, finally!” Q said, leaning back in his chair and looking up at Picard with mischievous brown eyes and a dangerous smile; “I was starting to think you were trying to bore me to death by making me listen to the collected works of Erik Satie.”

“It’s Debussy, actually,” Jean-Luc corrected, bitterly; “and I’m sorry the music in my establishment isn’t to your liking. I expect you’ll be writing that in your next article.” It wasn’t a question, although Picard really was wondering if Q would bother mentioning such little details just to annoy him, _but I can’t let him know that I’m worried_.

They were constantly playing this little game; Q trying to intimidate Picard and Picard pretending that Q’s efforts were all for naught. _Pretending, am I?_ He truly wasn’t afraid of Q, at least not in the way the man wanted him to be, and that was precisely what bothered him. Q could really harm him; he could bring down the whole restaurant with a few words if he wanted to and leave Picard and his staff with nothing. The power he held over them all should’ve terrified him, he should be calculating every word and making sure he wouldn’t offend their most important customer. And yet here he was, countering all of Q’s cutting remarks and snapping some back at him. Why wasn’t he afraid? _Because I’ve never been afraid of bullies._ And that’s exactly what Q was, wasn’t he? A bully with nothing better to do with his time than to bother them…

“Maybe I should,” Q’s reply came, but it was somewhat drier than usual; “but that’s not why I’m here.”

Now this was new; all trace of amusement disappeared from his face and it was quite disconcerting to hear that serious tone of voice come out of the usually smirking mouth.

“What are you here for, then?” Jean-Luc asked, trying to sound more annoyed than intrigued.

Q had dropped his gaze to his plate and if Picard hadn’t known better he would have thought he was struggling for words. He almost wanted to laugh; Q was fidgeting in his chair, clearly uncomfortable. There was a slow moment of expectant silence interrupted only by the clinking of forks and knives against plates, the humming of different conversations from around the room and the lazy piano from Debussy’s “Valse Romantique” in the background. Jean-Luc stared, fascinated by this new and nervous Q, scratching the table with his thumb and fumbling for words. The whole scene only lasted a few seconds and then the restaurant critic looked back up and straight into Picard’s eyes, but it was enough. Jean-Luc had seen the breach in that cleverly constructed facade of mocking arrogance and it felt wrong, so wrong to have seen him that way. _I should savor this as a victory,_ and yes, for a moment the thought had crossed his mind; he could hold onto those few seconds of weakness and drag Q back there, and make him never want to set foot in his restaurant again. Whatever it was he was hiding -it didn’t matter- Picard could find out and humiliate him right there, before he spoke another word. It was tempting, for a moment, and then Picard almost felt ashamed. _Who’s the bully now, Jean-Luc?_ No, he’d wait. He’d give the man a chance.

“I’m here to tell you that there’s an exhibition of ancient Bajoran artifacts at the Archaeological Museum,” Q said tentatively, and then there were a few more seconds of uneasy silence, with Q’s eyes avoiding Jean-Luc’s and for a moment it seemed like that was all he had to say. Then he straightened up in his chair and blurted out in a hurry, “and I wanted to ask you if you’d like to go with me.”

And it was too much; the solemn expression on Q’s face, the way he pulled on his turtleneck awkwardly and rolled the fork from hand to hand, then this strange request. Picard just couldn’t suppress a loud laugh –which he cut short almost as soon as he started it, partly because of the curious stares of the other patrons but mostly because Q had gone pale and looked absolutely mortified. Jean-Luc knew from his expression alone just how much he regretted what he had just said and that he’d undoubtedly be looking for something hurtful to say next to cover up his disgrace. So he spoke quickly, his amused smile crumbling into a disbelieving frown:

“You’re serious?”

Q raised his eyebrows. _Oh merde, wrong thing to say._ But what _was_ he supposed to say? He wasn’t even sure he understood. Was the man who seemed to take so much pleasure in making Picard’s life a living hell asking him out?  Or was there something else Picard was missing?

“I –err,” he coughed, scratching the back of his neck. He had absolutely no idea what to say, and Q was still staring at him, half-hopeful, half-terrified. So he improvised; “I don’t know. When were you planning on going?”

He wasn’t handling this as gracefully as he’d wanted, but he just couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea that the restaurant critic might genuinely want to take him to an archaeological exhibit. _Why in the world would he_?

“Friday,” Q answered immediately, then he seemed to think it over for a moment and added; “if you don’t have other plans, that is.”

Picard was practically bouncing on his heels. Why was he so nervous? He could just say _no, thank you Mr. Quentin but I’m busy on Friday,_ and forget the whole incident. But what if he really was missing something here? What if it was more than it seemed? Was this a challenge?

“I think I can make time for it,” he replied, trying to convince himself it was out of curiosity that he had accepted, nothing more.

Q positively beamed at him; “Good. Friday, 2.30 at the Archaeological Museum, then!”

And with that he was off, and Picard was left standing there, staring at the empty table.

*

Waiting in front of the museum, Jean-Luc was already starting to regret his decision. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat and breathed in the cold winter air. _What was I thinking? I’m standing here in the wind waiting for Quentin Tutto –of all people!- to show up and…_ and then what? They’d walk into the museum and look at Bajoran artifacts? Suddenly Jean-Luc felt like a fool. He pulled his right hand out of his pocket and checked the time. He’d been a few minutes early, but it was already 2.38 and there was no sign of Q. _Merde_. Whether this was an elaborate prank or just another one of Q’s so-called “lessons”, he had been stupid enough to fall for it. Rubbing his hand across his forehead, Picard pondered his options; leave and spend the evening with a good book and some Earl Grey tea, or stay and see the exhibit alone. Either way he was going to feel like an idiot for hours. _I should leave…_ He was still debating with himself when a tall figure appeared at the corner of the street, walking at an unnervingly slow pace.

“You’re late,” Picard grunted as Q reached his level.

“Fashionably,” Q smiled, completely oblivious to the fact that Jean-Luc had been waiting for him for over ten minutes, half-freezing in the wind and cold; “Shall we?” he added, gesturing towards the entry of the museum.

As they walked in, Jean-Luc greeted the warmth of the closed building with a sigh of relief. He couldn’t wait for the afternoon to be over; he still didn’t understand why he was here, but he certainly didn’t want it to last. He chanced a quick glance at Q; he was wearing a long black coat and a blue scarf was covering half his face. Picard watched as he pulled on it then wrapped it around itself and made it into a bundle before shoving it into his pocket.  He couldn’t help but smile slightly –the man suddenly looked much more… human. Seeing him in the restaurant was one thing; they were both doing their jobs, although Q’s consisted essentially of annoying Picard. Here it was different; they wore coats and scarves and they were afraid of catching a cold. Jean-Luc turned away before Q could notice. He felt extremely awkward, walking into the archaeological museum with a man he now realized he barely knew. Oh he knew he was an arrogant, self-obsessed bastard, but surely there was more to him than that? Picard shook his head; _I still can’t believe I accepted._

“Are you really interested in ancient Bajor or are we here for an entirely different reason?”

There. If he was going to be made fun of, let it be now so he could go home and have his tea. He wasn’t going to dance for Q’s amusement.

“Actually, I’m not interested in any of this,” Q replied in his characteristically nonchalant way, making a vague gesture towards the inside of the building; “I just thought you’d appreciate it.”

And that made Jean-Luc’s eyes widen for a moment. _He’s teasing me._

“Why are you so sure I like archaeology? In fact I hate it,” he lied, waiting for a reaction.

Q ducked his head, trying to hide a smile.

“ _Pas du tout_. You love it. You even considered being an archaeologist before opening that restaurant.”

“How did you know that?” Picard stared back at him in actual shock.

Q just kept smiling, thanked the young lady who handed them maps of the different wings of the museum and shrugged off his coat.

“You’re not going to answer that, are you?” Picard said, taking off his own coat and letting it hang on his forearm.

“No, I’m not,” Q answered coolly. Then he added, leading the way into the “temporary exhibition space”; “This way.”

Picard followed, mildly astonished. _What is this?_ Why did the restaurant critic invite him somewhere he knew he’d enjoy? And how had he known in the first place? What was the point of all this? Maybe it really was what it looked like… Jean-Luc couldn’t bring himself to ask. _Afraid of the answer, are we?_ Yes. Yes, absolutely.

They entered the room, a brightly lit place that smelled of wood and flowery air freshener. Q, still smiling, looked back at Picard, and Jean-Luc couldn’t help but think of how menacing that smile still looked. Even here, even when they were both just normal human beings visiting a museum together. Together. That was what made it so difficult. He couldn’t think of himself and Q doing anything “together”; they were opposites, they were night and day, they couldn’t coexist without collision… could they?

“Well?” Q asked, brows knitted in a half-worried, half-impatient frown; “aren’t you going to take a look around?”

Jean-Luc nodded absently and headed towards the first set of small statues placed behind a glass wall. It took him a few minutes to get rid of the itchy awareness of Q’s presence beside him, but after that he found himself completely absorbed by the diversity and rarity of what was exposed. Five minutes later he was regretting not having brought along a pen and notebook to take notes.

“These are extraordinary,” he muttered to himself, watching hourglass-shaped objects.

“The _Tears of the Prophets_ ,” Q whispered directly in his ear; “The Bajoran’s scared Orbs.”

Jean-Luc stiffened. Q was so close he could almost feel his lips move against the shell of his ear. Although their bodies weren’t even touching, he could feel the warmth emanating from Q against his back. It was a bit unsettling, but not unpleasant. _What?_ He knew he should be moving away, or at least showing some sign of discomfort, but he didn’t want to. That fact alone was disquieting enough, so he distracted himself instead of thinking of it:

“They say they were sent by the Prophets to provide guidance and wisdom.”

Q snorted and moved away. Picard felt cold.

“And you believe that?” he said mockingly.

“Not necessarily, but I don’t dismiss other people’s beliefs like that,” Jean-Luc answered reproachfully, glad to be able to escape the awkwardness of the past few moments.

“Neither do I, Jean-Luc,” Q replied, shrugging; “unless they’re stupid –which, let’s be honest, most of them are.”

“That’s a horrendously ignorant viewpoint if ever I heard one!” Picard gasped, staring at Q indignantly.

Q looked back at him, amusement written all over his face; “I never took you for the religious type Jean-Luc; frankly, I’m disappointed.”

“I’m not religious. Spiritual maybe. Not that being religious is a bad thing; I’m appalled you think it is. And I don’t need to believe in something to defend it. Arrogant know-it-alls like you have always looked down on people with religious beliefs while they are the very heart and soul of human civilization.”

“Temper, temper!” Q laughed, and Jean-Luc wanted to push him; “you have to admit though that-”

“No, I will admit nothing and you will stop talking about this immediately,” Picard snapped, too tired and annoyed to listen.

For a moment there was silence as they both stared at each other, then Q raised his eyebrows and smiled again, bowing his head; “As you wish, _mon capitaine_!”

The nickname was meant to tease him for being bossy of course, but Jean-Luc thought it sounded oddly affectionate in Q’s mouth. His eyes softened and he sighed. He felt like being honest.

“You exasperate me beyond belief, Mr. Quentin.”

“Call me Q. All my… friends do,” Q said hesitantly, and there it was again, that breach in the flawless mask of arrogance and self-sufficiency that had made Picard accept this madness in the first place. _You want us to be friends? Well then it’s about time you gave me some answers._

“Right. Tell me, Q, why are we here?”

“What?” the restaurant critic looked at him innocently, but Picard wasn’t about to give up.

“Why did you bring me here? There must be a better reason than hearing me babbling about stones and statues and Bajoran beliefs!”

And just like that, Q’s face slammed shut like a clam. His expression became impenetrable, his eyes unreadable, and he muttered a flat; “Is there?” before turning away and walking towards another corner of the room.

*

They didn’t exchange more than two or three words after that. They finished the visit quickly, almost abruptly and walked out into the icy winter air, avoiding eye contact. 

“Well,” Jean-Luc mumbled awkwardly; “thank you, Quentin, I-”

“Don’t mention it,” Q interrupted him, holding out his hand stiffly.

Picard shook it, trying to smile as amiably as possible.

“Good evening then.”

Q nodded at him and walked away, leaving Jean-Luc cold and annoyed and feeling like an absolute jerk.

*

Deanna chewed the crust of her pizza and hummed in appreciation.

“I thought you didn’t like the crust?” Jean-Luc asked, smiling.

“Usually I don’t,” she answered, mouth full; “but this isn’t just any crust.”

They were sitting at her favorite table in her favorite pizza place, which wasn’t common for the two of them. Although Jean-Luc had nothing against pizza, he rarely set foot in _Deep Dish Nine_ for various reasons. Taking a bite of his pepperoni and cheese, he was starting to think about renewing his visit.

“I dare say this is the best pizza I’ve ever had”, he approved.

“I agree,” Deanna nodded proudly, wiping her mouth with a napkin; “Now, let’s talk about you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” he sighed, trying to avoid her knowing eyes.

“I never said there was anything _wrong_ with you,” she replied, looking at him pointedly.

“Alright. Something _is_ bothering me but I’m not sure I want to talk about it.”

She shrugged, shook her head –making her long curly hair sway behind her shoulders- and played with the straw in her coke. He watched her pretend she wasn’t going to try to convince him to say anything, looking down at the table with false indifference, and that was persuasion enough. He knew he could trust her with his silence as well as his words and that she would only try to help either way. That made him all the more inclined to confess. _Oh you’re good at this, Deanna Troi. You’d be a good psychologist._

“It’s Q,” he admitted, lowering his voice; “He took me to an archaeological exhibit yesterday.”

“And did you enjoy yourself?” she asked, casually.

Jean-Luc stared at her. _Really?_ He had expected an entirely different reaction. Surprise, amusement, indignation maybe… but not casual interest.

“Well that’s not the point, is it?”

“I think it is,” she shrugged again, taking a sip of her coke.

Jean-Luc crossed his arms and leaned over the table.

“I don’t know. Perhaps I did –I mean the exhibit was interesting- but…” his voice trailed off. He hated having to express himself like this; he’d never been good at it. Angry Klingon customers, scheming Romulan competitors, annoying restaurant critics… all that, he could handle. But conveying his feelings to another person… that was tricky. He trusted Deanna of course; it was himself he couldn’t trust.

“Why did he invite me out? The real reason? I asked him but he didn’t answer…”

“You _asked_ him why he invited you?” Deanna said, raising her eyebrows; “Well no wonder he didn’t answer. I think it’s pretty obvious.”

“Deanna,” he groaned.

“Why not?” she questioned, spreading her hands and smiling slightly; “Can’t he be interested in you?”

“No. Not him”, he said stubbornly; “Besides, I barely know him.”

“You always say we shouldn’t judge people before we get to know them.”

“This is Q!” he blurted; “After all he’s done to us…”

“Doesn’t he deserve a second chance? Didn’t you tell me just the other day that everyone deserves a second chance?”

“I wish you’d stop doing that,” he sighed, shaking his head in frustration.

Deanna placed her hand on his arm and smiled softly.

“Try to get to know him. You don’t have to like him, but you might be surprised.”

*

He wasn’t expecting to bump into Q by accident a few days later. However he did, quite literally, _bump into him_ on his way to _Chez Picard_. He was walking as fast as he could, holding a large box of utensils in his gloved hands and he had stuck his phone between his ear and his shoulder.

“I’m sorry Mr. LaForge, but I can’t do it all by myself…”

His phone slipped in his hurry and met the ground with a crashing noise.

“Merde!”

He left the box on the ground and hurried to pick it up, but when he stood he knocked into a tall, darkly clad figure.

“I’m terribly sorry-”he started, before looking up and recognizing Q; “Oh. Mr. Quentin.”

“Good morning Jean-Luc,” Q blinked at him, a little dazed.

For a moment they stared at each other, unsure of how they should react. Their breaths were coming out in puffs of fog in the cold early morning. Jean-Luc cleared his throat.

“It’s only 5.40, I had no idea you woke up so early,” he found himself saying to avoid the uncomfortable silence.

“There’re a lot of things you don’t know about me,” Q remarked, smiling slightly. It still looked a bit threatening to Picard’s eyes, but he had to give the man _a second chance_.

“Indeed. We should get to know each other better,” he winced almost immediately after the words left his mouth, aware of how they might’ve sounded. Q, on the other hand, looked pleased.

“Oh yes, we definitely should. You’ll learn so much about me if we spend more time together,” he answered, and his smile became playful, _is he flirting?_

“To learn about you is frankly… provocative,” Jean-Luc replied, for lack of a better word. _Ah well, this’ll do for now_ , and yes, Q’s smile was getting broader and broader and yes, maybe this was flirting. And yes, maybe Jean-Luc _was_ enjoying it.

Maybe.

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, I snatched that last line right out of Jean-Luc's mouth in TNG episode "Q Who?".


End file.
